


The Favour

by GeekWithTea



Series: Complimentary Archangels [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (...or at least he tries to be), Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Non-Binary Character, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Non-Binary Raphael (Good Omens), Oscar Wilde trial, Raphael | Crowley: STOP TELLING EVERYONE I'M DEAD, Renaissance Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 18:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekWithTea/pseuds/GeekWithTea
Summary: Angels, in short, are required to be communal. To help one another. Sometimes, you find yourself comforting an angel you'd rather be a galaxy away from.1. Aziraphale helps with a memorial.2. Gabriel considers the hidden grey areas of morality.





	The Favour

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to read Five Steps before reading this one, but the backstory is this:
> 
> 1\. Compliments are angelic versions of twins, specifically designed as a counter-balance.  
2\. Gabriel and Raphael (they/them pronouns) were compliments. Raphael was presumed dead during the battle.  
3\. Crowley was Raphael (but while it doesn't come up in this one, he actually doesn't give a shit.)

Aziraphale blinked away in surprise as he opened the door to his Florence home. “…I didn’t receive any notice you were coming, and when it’s an inspection you usually don’t wait for me to knock.” Gabriel shivered from the rain and perhaps something else. Aziraphale wished terribly that he had ignored the knocking at the door, even if it took a good thirty minutes. His Gesta Danorum set would just have to wait.

“May I come in, Aziraphale?”

He nodded and Gabriel stepped inside more cautiously than normal. It wasn’t the steps of someone who thought he shouldn’t be here, but the steps of someone questioning the reason of why they came. The purple coat, which was knowingly made fit for a king was hung against the door like a farmer’s working coat.

“Is…everything alright?”

“Of course, of course.” The slight tremor in his normally overbearingly confident-and overbearing in general-boss added a “not” to the self-assessment. “I was hoping to procure an artwork for the office.”  
On a rainy weeknight? He had half a mind to send him packing for asking. But there were three problems with this desired response. The first was that this was his boss. The second was that Gabriel hadn’t turned away from the rain, which meant that Gabriel saw it of at least some importance. The third, and this gave Aziraphale pause; Gabriel had some control over the weather. Not enough to change it at will, but enough that he could express himself with it like an external aura without meaning to.

Aziraphale resigned himself. This might as well happen.

“Gabriel, if I remember correctly, you consume wine on occasion. Feel free to sit in the parlor where it is comfortable and I’ll grab us a bottle of wine, unless of course I am mistaken, and it’ll be quick.”

Gabriel nodded and sat on the couch. Aziraphale bit down a long sigh and walked with some theatrical pep down the stairs to the cellar. At least his performance for “happy to have your boss over” should earn him a reward if anyone was watching…

This didn’t call for a good vintage, but overall not for a terrible one either. He remembered the young girl who had gifted him a properly mediocre wine but with the kindest intent, which always made things taste sweeter. It wasn’t consecrated wine, but the emotion was there.

He walked upstairs and nearly went back into the cellar again. For now, the situation was more than Aziraphale desired on a quiet but raining weeknight in his abode. He had noticed things were off, but he wasn’t expecting to see a whimpering Archangel in his parlor. Perhaps breaking out the best wine was not a good idea, but he decided on a mix of his nicest but sturdiest drinking glasses.

Blinking, he decided what he should say when he walked in. It wasn’t exactly subtle with the shaking shoulders and muffled sobs coming from the scarf-hidden face, but then again, this was his boss. He supposed out of the four Archangels, this would be the one he would bet actually…well, felt these types of emotions...but in his parlor? He couldn’t have possibly predicted that.

He decided on an approach that Crowley relied on with crying children, though he’d be damned if he was going to kiss any knee-scrapes better. Aziraphale relaxed his shoulders artificially and walked in, pouring a glass of wine beside the personified awkward situation. “I think you need this more than me.” There was an uncharacteristic swagger in his voice and Aziraphale blushed for a second knowing full well that it was a bit too close to when Aziraphale was landed with doing the chores in the Arrangement. Thankfully, his boss was too busy…emoting…to notice.

“Thank you.” It was low and gravelly. 

“So…I take this commission is not a self-portrait.” If it was, wouldn’t he have a story to tell Crowley later.

“…no.” There was a jerk in the shoulders from the jerk in the room that was probably laughter. “Makes no sense to paint things that are alive.”

If it had been anyone else, Aziraphale would have probably noted that it was all well and good to paint things that were alive as they wouldn’t always be alive. As it was the Archangel Gabriel, his eyes widened. The worst kept secret in Heaven was Gabriel and his compliment, the former Archangel Raphael. All angels had been assigned compliments, though most couldn’t be too bothered with theirs. Aziraphale’s complementary trait was Introversion and Extroversion which meant that whoever his compliment was, they didn’t feel bothered to spend time with an introvert when there were multitudes of angels. During the war, several had passed away or been torn apart by the Fall. Aziraphale didn’t know what happened to his and honestly didn’t care to know. He knows he didn’t kill his like Sandalphon did or Michael tried-but that was to be expected when complimented with Lucifer. He might have opted for Uriel’s route of sparing their compliment as a final parting gift. However, Gabriel and Raphael were thick as thieves and probably inspiration for the human concept of twins, and Raphael had died in the battle.

This was for Raphael. This also explained the mourning Archangel in his parlor.

“I see. What can I do for you?” He winced at how open that phrasing was, because it was easier to quick do a favour for a grieving mother during the plague than it was your boss. Primarily, because humans tended to be quicker fixes with even shorter memory. However, it was the line he relied on, and it escaped before he could consider the consequences.

“Well…I…” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Ah…” The scarf was wrapped around his neck again, and his expression was as dignified as it was puffy, and he threw the wine back like a shot. Aziraphale blinked. He couldn’t blame him, but he blinked.

“…Sorry about that.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying to muster any sort of dignity he could. Aziraphale politely averted his gaze, waiting for Gabriel to begin speaking. “I heard of this thing called the,” Gabriel cleared his throat again though it seemed more as a cover than a need “Ren….ren..essence?”

“Renaissance.” Aziraphale smiled politely. It was his home, and he could still insist on the proper pronunciation of words. “I’ve taken a break from London for Florence, as you can see. All the change-makers are here.” That wasn’t why he had come. It was more for a break from the shit and death of the English countryside, but he didn’t want to get into that, when as a proper angel he should be in the thick of it thwarting as he had been for the past two centuries.

“So, since humans have figured out how to paint again…I…well I thought I might…” He averted his gaze. “…do this now.”

Aziraphale nodded, realized his eyes were shut and added a smile to his voice. “Of course.”

“And…ah…I really want to but…” His voice wobbled and Aziraphale bit his lip, expecting the next onslaught of emotion. To try to hide it, Aziraphale threw a lifeline.

“You would like me to have it commissioned.”

There was a slight nod. “I…heh…well I can normally…but since its…well…” There was a slight sob and Aziraphale felt himself grow infinitely uncomfortable. Especially when Gabriel made eye-contact with him and he could feel the grief. “I-I can’t really talk about it without being all….” He gestured to his face before it collided with the scarf. Aziraphale decided this was the perfect moment to fill his own glass, and while he didn’t shoot it, he finished it as if it were mead.

Quietly, he got up and poured a new wine glass for each of them and put a blanket over the indisposed Archangel’s shoulders as a replacement for the hug he usually gave in these circumstances. Out of a slight inclination of guilt, he grabbed one of his freshly laundered handkerchiefs and put it on his knee, making sure not to touch him.  
“So…” Aziraphale coughed. “I suppose you would like me to write down the details and then deliver it to you?”

There was a shaky breath followed by a bobbing of his head. Right.

Aziraphale could barely hear what followed, but he miracled a pen and notepad. When he looked up, Gabriel glared at him unamused. “Seriously? Right in front of me?” It might have made him a bit jumpy if Gabriel hadn’t managed to pause what looked like a good cry-was good even the right word? Aziraphale bit his tongue. The nervous part reminded him that this was his boss. The bastard part of him had to be reminded of his sense of honour and general distaste for kicking someone while they were down.

“It would help if I knew what they looked like.”

There was a flicker in the living room, almost a ghostly apparition appeared. For a moment, the figure looked stunningly familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. If he had looked longer, he might have recognized it, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. In its wake was a wounded, vocal sob and his boss was doubled over and shaking. 

Lord in heaven, he was going to have to hug him, wasn’t he?

Trying to ignore all of the stern memos, general annoyances and almost cruel orders from the bureaucracy of heaven, he made his way over to the couch. He slowly slid down into the chair and opted to rub his shoulder, pointedly looking elsewhere.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. If tonight is any indication, this might be damaging to your health.”

There was a mix of a sob and a cough, and even though Gabriel looked an absolute wreck, there was almost a glint of something in his eyes. His hands twitched and his fingers wiggled as if he were trying to summon the words with a song on the piano.

“It’s…a tombstone. It would be cruel to them not to have something to remember them by.”

“Well, I did get a decent look at the image. Would it be easy if I confirmed the details with you? If you just need to nod or thumbs-up/thumbs-down…just…do what you need to.” He managed an almost genuine sympathetic smile and pointed to the handkerchief on Gabriel’s lap. There was a muddled thank you, and in the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel’s head turn to try to clean his face.

“Alright. So did they have red hair?”

There was a nod. Aziraphale jotted it down.

“Their eyes were….I want to say…go-“ Fearing for just a moment that Gabriel might actually be able to sense something, when both this moment and history proved otherwise, “…green.”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, they were…hazel. C-can I try describing Raphael again? Not sure h-how far I’ll get.”

As Gabriel didn’t turn around, Aziraphale switched his tactic from a solemn nod to a solemn “yes.”

“They had a sharp face and curly red hair. I used to joke that their chin was the closest thing to a weapon they’d yield.” Aziraphale performed what felt like a minor miracle not to groan out loud. “They liked to sashay, like those funny pink water birds. They loved children more than anything. Always so kind and gentle with everyone. They’d never fight…they were just too gentle and-and…” The sobbing began again.

Aziraphale thought of Crowley. There were similarities, but Crowley was seasoned, smarter and while he was kind, gentle was not really in his repertoire. Aziraphale doubted that he had hellfire in his veins, but there was a genuine, demonic but righteous anger. His angry, screaming conscious that he found himself living through vicariously. He had turned tough love into actual love; almost unconditional love for the humans around him, and unconditional love for the children. For a moment, he imagined what would occur if his best friend were to die. It was in this that he was able to overcome his discomfort. What would he do if he couldn’t confide in Crowley? Would he find himself at the mercy of being that he moderately disliked? That he saw as beneath him?

In that moment, and only for that moment, Aziraphale moved his hand to the further shoulder and stroked it gently. He even managed to turn to face Gabriel, who hadn’t seemed to notice the change.

“The Church has taken an interest in an artist named Titian. He’s always been one for fluid expressions. Some of the paintings I’ve seen others do are stiff, but those paintings seem to have a soul in them. As well…I don’t know if you would like to hear this, but one of the rejected tales for the Bible was the story of Raphael helping a child. I could ask for that to be commissioned with your requirements. I will have to miracle the money, so I would appreciate-“

Aziraphale knew he probably had all his ribs intact but the hug was crushing. “Thank you thank you thank you…” Gabriel prattled on, still sobbing and rumpling his jacket. Aziraphale simply accepted that this may be his fate for a while and rubbed circles on the Archangel’s back.

_

The painting was splendid, and from the look on Titian’s face, so was the reward. For a moment, Aziraphale allowed him to imagine the advice that could possibly be bestowed to the non-descript child in the frame. Something about picking your fights based on how cool you’d look after, drinking certain vintages only and that sunbathing was a fantastic hobby. However, he shook the thought out of his mind.  
The second copy was nice, but it seemed more at peace without its kind hazel eyes. This one focused entirely on the child, while the first seemed to share the same wisdom with the reader. The second one also had darker wings, which while enjoyable for Aziraphale’s wandering mind, would do little to reassure the Archangel who had ordered this.

The following hug would have also been nice if he hadn’t been jostled like a gelatin-molded fruit dish. Thankfully, ribs couldn’t break in Heaven unless any of the parties wanted there to be broken ribs.

“I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” A darker part of Aziraphale’s mind noted that Gabriel did indeed owe him, but not for this saga. He performed his angelic duty and banished the thought for a far later date.

“No, I do. All you have to do is ask. Other than you know, breaking the Great Plan.” Gabriel laughed and for once, he didn’t find it too obnoxious.

“The second one will be displayed for the public, as discussed.” Gabriel clapped giddily.

“Perfect! They’d hate if I didn’t share it to the humans. That genuinely was a brilliant idea. Not too many, but when they come…” He mimicked an explosion and grinned. Aziraphale simply rolled his eyes. He didn’t need Gabriel’s approval; he concerned himself with Heaven’s approval instead. Maybe he would cash in that favour if the back-handed compliments were to occur. Even then though, it would be a shame to trade something so valuable for jokes at his general performance.

My my. Crowley really was rubbing off on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the painting in question. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Accademia_-_Archangel_Raphael_and_Tobit_by_Titian.jpg


End file.
